


that comforting pressure

by tryslora



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Bitty Knows Jack So Well, But there are Handcuffs, Cuffs, Cuffs Help With Anxiety, M/M, Minor Character(s), jack has anxiety, not bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Bitty's fingers wrap around Jack's wrists, and Jack’s eyes flutter closed at the pressure, a soft sigh whispering from his lips. Bitty tightens his grip, and Jack feels tension slip from his spine.





	that comforting pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froggydarren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/gifts).



> A while back, froggydarren and I were talking about various story prompts based on the idea of how cuffs feel on the wrists. I have a couple of others noted in my bunny folder for myself to write, but this was the one that demanded I write it RIGHT NOW. For values of "right now" that equate to a month...

It seems so easy the first time it happens.

Jack’s stretched out on the bed, one leg across Bitty’s hips to hold him in place. He traces a path up Bitty’s side with a light touch, grinning when Bitty yelps at the tickling sensation.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bitty’s words pop but there’s a smile tilting his lips as he pushes and Jack goes with the motion, letting Bitty flip them so that Jack falls back against the bed. Bitty straddles him, his hands sliding down Jack’s arms to wrap around his wrists, pressing the back of his hands into the mattress.

Jack’s eyes flutter closed at the pressure, a soft sigh whispering from his lips. Bitty tightens his grip, and Jack feels tension slip from his spine.

“Well now, honey, isn’t that interesting,” Bitty murmurs. Then he bends forward to nip at Jack’s throat, and everything else is forgotten. Bitty’s mouth has a way of swallowing Jack’s troubles whole.

#

The press is used to Bitty by now. Everyone’s known about them for a year, and spotting Bitty in the middle of a press conference is hardly unusual. He’s personable, easy-going, and the camera loves him. The Falconers know they should exclude him, but Jack speaks easier when Bitty’s sitting next to him, knee pressed to knee under the table.

Except tonight it isn’t working.

The press seems determined to push and prod at things Jack doesn’t want to discuss. It’s all about the game, in his mind. How did he play? How well does he work with Tater? He doesn’t care that he’ll be playing against Chowder for the first time in two years when they play the Sharks in two days. Just like he doesn’t care when they play the Aces.

But the press cares, crowding in on him, redirecting the questions back to the personal, and the potential for conflict, when all Jack wants to do is talk about hockey.

Fingers tap his thigh under the table, and Jack huffs out a slowly released breath. He turns his hand palm up, expecting Bitty to fit their hands together.

Instead, fingers wrap around his wrist, gripping tightly and bearing down.

Everything whooshes out of him and suddenly Jack’s safe.

He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments.

“I don’t know about Jack, but I’m looking forward to Chowder coming into town,” Bitty says, leaning forward like he’s confiding. “I’ve already planned to bake his favorite pie. For after the game, of course. There’s always time to still be friends.”

“The Sharks have a fantastic defense, and Chris Chow is a linchpin of that defense,” Jack says, the words coming more easily. Bitty gently squeezes, and Jack smiles slightly. “He’s good enough that he’d play well even after one of Bitty’s pies. The rest of us wouldn’t dare let ourselves get weighed down.”

“That’s why we save the rewards for after, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says archly, and Jack kisses him because he can. Cameras pop in the background, but Bitty squeezes Jack’s wrist, and Jack just can’t bring himself to care.

#

“Jack.” Bitty’s voice is a whisper against his skin, pressed into his collarbone, kiss by kiss. Bitty’s hips weigh him down, keep him in place, but Jack’s hands are free.

He strokes up Bitty’s back, massages into his shoulders, then slides down again, squeezing his ass. He holds him there while he presses his hips up, their dicks sliding together. Bitty twists, reaches for the tube of lubricant and spills it into his palm. It’s cold when Bitty wraps his hand around Jack’s dick, but it’s slick and smooth and Jack presses into his touch.

Bitty stops moving, puts his hand right in the center of Jack’s chest. “Do you trust me?”

Jack blinks, because what else could be true? “Of course.”

“Don’t move.”

Jack struggles to keep himself still as he watches Bitty slick his hand again, pulling along the length of his own cock until it glistens with lube. Then Bitty methodically cleans his hand on the sheets, and reaches for Jack’s wrists.

 _Crisse_.

Jack arches up, the backs of his hands borne down into the mattress by Bitty’s weight. Breath shudders through him; his eyes close. “Bitty….”

“I said don’t move,” Bitty whispers, forehead against Jack’s, hair tickling him. “Just let go, honey. I’ve got you.”

Bitty twitches his hips, and their dicks slide in slick movement, and it’s all Jack can do to stay still. Bitty’s fingers tighten around his wrists, and Jack gasps, fingers flexing.

“Okay?” Bitty murmurs, and Jack just nods.

“Oui,” he finally manages to say. “Oui.”

Bitty moves achingly slowly, dragging along Jack, teasing him. Giving him just enough pressure that Jack hungers desperately for more. Bitty takes him to the edge over and over, stopping each time with his grip tight around Jack’s wrist, his breath warm across Jack’s chest.

Everything just falls away until all that’s left is the slide of dick against dick and the pressure on his wrists, the way Bitty’s weight holds him in place, covering him, surrounding him. Jack swears under his breath when he can’t hold back any more.

He comes in a haze while floating under Bitty’s touch, the orgasm stretching out until he’s covered in sticky fluid, body limp and lax.

Even after Bitty rolls away, Jack can feel the ghost of fingers on his skin. He falls asleep with Bitty’s phantom touch grounding him.

#

It’s a mess the second time they play the Sharks. First Tater goes off the ice in the first period for a wrist x-ray, then they rapidly slide down into a hole they just can’t climb out of. They lose by four, and Jack can’t help but feel it’s somehow his fault.

He sits on the bench in the locker room, elbows on his knees, head hanging down. He knows he needs to go out to talk to the press, but he can’t do it. Not while his hands are still shaking, his knees still weak. There’s a tightness in his chest, and he doesn’t want to do this alone.

But he’s in California and Bitty’s back in Providence. Jack’s on his own here.

“Is only little broken!” Tater yells out cheerily, brandishing his splinted wrist. “Is not all bad news today.”

Snowy settles on the bench next to Jack. “Chris Chow is an amazing goalie,” he says.

Jack nods. “Can’t deny that. Plays better now than he did when we were at Samwell. He’s had good coaches, good practice.”

“He’s going to be one of the greats,” Snowy acknowledges. “You can’t beat yourself up for not being able to get a puck past him, Jack.”

Jack wraps his right hand around his left wrist, closes his eyes for a moment as he presses in with his fingers. It’s not Bitty, but it’s easy to pretend that it might be, to send his mind back into that place where he felt safe. “I know,” he says slowly, the next breath coming more easily. “We should congratulate him.”

“Cameras would love it if we walk out of here and find him. Great human interest side of things.” Snowy knocks into Jack before he stands up. “Let’s go find Chowder, then go talk to the press. Someone has to reassure them that Tater’s all right.”

Jack sits there for a moment longer, his fingers wrapped tight about his wrist, pressing into the skin. He inhales and holds it for eight beats, then exhales slowly over a count of five. “I’m ready,” he says. He isn’t, not exactly, but he’s better than he was before.

If he stands with his hands behind his back during press, fingers wrapped around one wrist, no one has to know.

#

“I was thinking.”

Bitty kneels on the bed next to Jack, lower lip caught in his teeth. It’s an expression Jack knows well, that uncertainty that whatever Bitty is going to say won’t be received well. Jack reaches up, presses his hand to Bitty’s cheek. “Whatever it is, it’s fine, Bits.” His voice is low. Soft. Already a little slow because he’s naked in bed with his boyfriend and he knows what comes next. This is a chance to let go.

“Hold that thought.” Bitty puts one finger up, then turns away, digging into the nightstand drawer. He pulls out two thick bands of leather, the buckles overly large and brightly silver, a D ring standing out opposite the buckle. “You like—I mean, you like it when I hold your wrists. So I was thinking. Maybe we could let something else hold your wrists. So I can still have my hands. Because I do like touching you.”

They look like something out of a bondage video, and Jack supposes that that’s where Bitty got them. Some kind of online store that sent these here, to his address, and… his breath tightens rapidly in his chest.

“Jack?” Bitty asks, straddling him, leaning close. “Talk to me.”

“You ordered them and had them delivered here?” Jack manages to say.

Bitty laughs. “Oh no, darlin’, I knew you wouldn’t approve of having it come straight here now. Even though they do promise that their packaging provides absolute discretion. I had them delivered to Shitty, and he brought the package here while you were on your roadie. We watched the game together, actually, before he went back to Boston. And don’t worry, the box didn’t have a return address on it. I just told him it was a gift for you, and he understood that I might not want it to come here directly. In case it came while you were home.” Bitty places his hand over Jack’s heart. “No one ever is going to know. This is between you and me, honey.”

It’s easier to breathe after that, although Jack knows Shitty will ask what was in the box. He can make up a story, some kind of… thing. It doesn’t really matter.

Bitty sits straddling Jack’s hips, the black leather dangling from his fingers. There’s nothing else: no chains, no rope. Nothing to bind them with. Just two distinct straps of buckled black leather.

Jack licks his lips, gaze fixed on the cuffs. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I don’t know, exactly,” Bitty says quietly. He holds out the cuffs, and Jack takes one, turns it in his hand. “There are options, of course. It depends on what you think, I suppose.”

“Isn’t the person who’s not wearing the cuffs supposed to take charge?” Jack doesn’t know much about bondage, but he’s pretty sure that’s how it works.

“I don’t know if this is like that, exactly.” Bitty’s tongue darts out, and he leans in a moment, brushes his lips across Jack’s. “You like the feel of something on your wrist. You like being held down. But I don’t know if you’d want to be bound.”

“I….” Jack’s voice trails off. He’s wordless, failing to find any way to explain the thoughts in his head. Instead, he simply opens the buckle on one cuff, offers it and his wrist to Bitty and closes his eyes. Leather wraps around his wrist, thick and heavy, as Bitty tugs it tight. Bitty tests it, slipping one finger between leather and skin, to make sure it’s not too tight before he fastens the buckle.

Jack inhales, exhales slowly.

“I held my own wrist,” he says softly, little more than a whisper. “In a press conference. I didn’t know what to do, and you weren’t there, and I just wrapped my hand around the other like this.” He has both arms over his head now, his fingers showing how he held his own wrist tightly. “It helped.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it, honey?” Bitty asks. He leans forward, gets the second cuff wrapped around Jack’s other wrist. “You like feeling that pressure, that weight. It’s like an anchor.”

The sheets are cool against the backs of Jack’s hands. They feel heavy, like he couldn’t lift them if he wanted to. “Oui,” he whispers. “It’s like I can feel you holding me in place so I can’t fly away.”

“Good.” Bitty kisses the word into his throat, then nips above his collarbone. “Just lie there, just like that, Jack. Don’t move, and let me take care of you.”

By the time Bitty’s mouth reaches his chest, Jack starts to float. When Bitty’s mouth wraps around Jack’s cock, his hips jerk up, body held down by the lead weights that his wrists have become. He’s anchored, when he feels like he could come unmoored.

Eyes closed, Jack floats, while Bitty methodically takes him apart.

#

“My alarm,” Jack says, as he rushes into the kitchen. “You should have woken me.”

“You needed your sleep.” Bitty’s lips purse as he hands Jack a paper bag. “Don’t worry, you won’t be late. Here.” Bitty presses a scone into the hand already holding the bag, and a scrambled egg muffin into his other hand. “You can eat on the way. When you get there, take a look in your lunch bag.”

Jack tries to shuffle the things in his hand so he look _right now_ , but Bitty shushes him and nudges him toward the door.

“When you get there,” Bitty says. “You need to focus on driving right now. Be safe. I want you back in one piece. Oh, and I suppose your team needs you, too.”

Jack kisses Bitty on the way out the door. His bag is already in the car; everything except lunch and breakfast are ready to go. Jack finishes the egg muffin on the way to the car, manages a bite of scone while he gets started. His lunch sits on the seat, forgotten while he drives.

He rushes to get changed and onto the ice for morning skate, and doesn’t think of his lunch again until he sees it sitting there in his locker, waiting for him. Snowy bumps him on his way by.

“Some of us need someone like Bitty at home, taking care of us,” Snowy comments.

“Is there pie?” Tater asks. “Did he send enough pie to share?”

“I don’t think there’s any pie at all,” Jack says, opening the bag to look in.

That is definitely not pie.

That’s not even lunch.

“Zimmermann, don’t you remember? We’ve got lunch with Georgia today,” Guy calls out, and Jack waves him off, nods because he vaguely does remember that.

He doesn’t move yet, though, sitting there on the bench while he carefully pulls out what looks like two watches.

One is a watch, with a wide face, set into a thick leather band. It’s not quite as wide as the cuffs Bitty bought for bed, but it isn’t narrow, either. When Jack fits it around his wrist, slots the buckle neatly into place, it has a comforting weight.

The other matches—same black leather, same width to the cuff—but instead of a watch face, the Falconers logo is embossed into the leather.

“Is nice,” Tater comments. “Is not pie, but is very nice. Tell Bitty thank you for the gift.”

“I’ll remember without you needing to coach me on manners,” Jack says, tossing his towel at Tater. He manages to fasten the second band about his other wrist, and as soon as it sits in place, Jack is _aware_ of them. He’s aware of his wrists, as if they call his attention to them.

The weight, the steady pressure.

Tension seeps from his bones and he lets go a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You just about ready to go?” Guy asks, clapping Jack on the shoulder.

Jack touches one band lightly, feels the echo of Bitty’s touch wrapped around him, comforting and strong. He’s not sure where they’re going for lunch, or why Georgia wants them involved, but it doesn’t really matter. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his body at ease. “I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! If you like my fic, you might also like my original serial fiction, [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


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